Metal Gear Solid: Hell On Earth
by The Written Word
Summary: 1972, Vietnam War. Big Boss, the world's greatest soldier recruits FOXHOUND in an attempt to foil the plans of terrorists situated in Southern Vietnam. A new weapon has been created, and it's Boss's and FOXHOUND's job to stop it. Chapter Six up
1. Volume One: Prologue

_Hope is a waking dream…_

-Aristotle

**Metal Gear Solid: Hell on Earth**

**--Written by The Written Word in 2005—**

_Disclaimer- I do not own any of the Metal Gear (Solid) characters or names, but own that of the self created characters in this fanfiction_

_This fanfiction stays dedicated to my family, friends and all who have suffered in the terrorist bombings._

Hell On Earth Timeline 1945-1972 

**1945** Feb. Yalta Conference

May World War II ends in Europe.

Aug. U.S. drops an atomic bomb on Hiroshima, Japan.

Potsdam Conference - Truman - Stalin and British divide up Europe.

**1946** Jan. First East European Communist government set up in Albania.

**1947** Jan. Communists seize power in Poland.

March Truman Doctrine announced.

**1948** June Berlin Airlift begins (ends May 19, 1949)

**1949** April North Atlantic Treaty Organisation (NATO) established.

Aug. Soviet Union explodes its first atomic bomb.

Oct. Communists win Chinese Civil War.

**1950** June U.S. and other UN members fight North Korean forces.

(The Korean War ends July 27, 1953)

**1953** Aug. U.S. sponsored coup overthrows Iranian government.

**1954** June U.S. sponsored coup overthrows Guatemalan government.

Sept. Southeast Asia Treaty Organisation (SEATO) formed.

**1955** May Warsaw Pact formed.

July First Summit Meeting between President Dwight Eisenhower and Premier Nikita Khrushchev.

**1956** Nov. Red Army crushes the Hungarian Revolution.

**1957** Oct. Soviets launch first man-made satellite.

**1959** Feb. Fidel Castro becomes premier of Cuba, installs Communist government.

**1961** Apr. Bay of Pigs invasion of Cuba.

Aug. East Germany builds Berlin Wall.

**1962** June Sino Soviet Conflict begins.

Oct. Cuban Missile Crisis.

**1964** October 15 -- Kruschev ousted from power. Brezhnev becomes the First Secretary of the Communist Party, with Kosygin as Premier.

October 16 -- China conducts first successful nuclear test in the Takla Makan desert.

**1965** April U.S. sends troops to the Dominican Republic.

Aug. U.S. commits combat troops to South Vietnam.

**1965** -- Sigint joins ARPA. He takes part in the development of ARPAnet, which would go online in 1969.

**1966** -- The US government conducts a study on emergency medical treatment. The Department of Transportation lays the groundwork for the creation of the EMT system.

**1968** Aug. Soviet Red Army crushes Czech Uprising.

**1968** -- Eva disappears without a trace in Hanoi.

**1969**- 'Tuong Lai Mo Mit' project begun in Southern Vietnam. Tests for Nuclear capability are begun.

**1970** -- Para-Medic establishes the nation's first paramedic system in Seattle, Washington. Major Zero disbands FOX. The United States accumulates the remainder of the Legacy. The US branch of "Philosophers" changes its name to the "Patriots".

-- Phase One for the 'Tuong Lai Mo Mit' project is completed.

**1971** -- Carrying on the traditions of Major Zero and his FOX Unit, Big Boss establishes FOXHOUND.

**PROLOGUE**

---Quebec- Canada 1971---

"Descending at thirty thousand feet, we are ready to land." Big Boss took a swig of his hip flask of water and then began to walk to the cockpit.

The government had feared when news got to them that Vietnamese group of terrorist were at a nuclear breakthrough with their new project, sadistically naming their new base 'Hell On Earth' in Vietnamese. When they looked to Big Boss, he accepted the challenge of recruiting members for the new special unit he had created named 'FOXHOUND', carrying on the traditions of Major Tom.

'_Sounds familiar'_ Boss had thought when being briefed.

"Get your gear on, Sir, we are preparing to land." David Arnold, the pilot began to pull the large rucksack containing his gear and threw it to the FOXHOUND general.

"You've been equipped with an M1911A1, it's a-"

"I know what it is, dick head. Just get us to land." Big Boss retorted, he couldn't believe that this guy was telling him what a basic handgun was. He snorted and pulled out the MAC 10 he had been equipped with.

"What do you think I'm going to be doing down there? Shooting the man I'm going to recruit?"

"I'm really not sure, sir."

"You honestly think I'm going to be shooting people down there? Haven't you been briefed?" The FOXHOUND founder stared into the eyes of David Arnold.

"You've been brought into this mission because the government think you are the best damn pilot they can get. They didn't recruit you to give me lectures on how to fire a weapon."

The plane landed safely on the snowy ground, sparking up tufts of snow and controlling the whirr of the blizzard in the bitter afternoon. As Big Boss zipped up his ski-jacket and lodged his boots into the skis, he began to think what Ocelot was going to do when he saw him, and how he would react to the enquiry he would throw in his face seven long years after the Snake Eater mission.

He admired the scene of the mountains he was about to leap onto and glared at the vast snowfields and cliffs he was about to embrace. His eye patch itched against the horrendous blizzard he was about to face. With a bend of the legs, the 6'5, 230 pound soldier leaped onto the soft, cushioning icy ground and began to swerve left and right on the large mountain cliff.

The wind screeched across the frosting face of the FOXHOUND leader. Despite his large coat, hat and gloves, he could still feel the cold.

He pushed himself further with his ski supports and soon dug them into the ground to take in the inspirational view of the mountains to the North of the town. He wanted to smile, be happy and a human being again. But the torture he endured almost ten years ago was still heavy in his black heart.

The wind raged on and on. It resembled his anguish he felt and his urge to go on.

His legs felt heavy. He had never healed from The Boss' and his battle nine years ago. When he walked he'd feel the pain. When he lifted a finger his heart leaped. And when he tried to run, his legs would tremble and an irregular spasm would go through his right knee.

The mountain from there on in seemed like a mile, although the actual distance only covered merely ninety metres. His arms began to feel cramped. Feeling his M1911A1 holster, the FOXHOUND founder crept behind a rock and waited silently. His face was numb and his legs had been tested. There was no going back from here, he had to see Ocelot and face him man to man.

_Come out of hiding, Adam. This is no game._

He felt his eye patch and growled, remembering the sound recording EVA had made. She had gone and had been betraying him all along, and it was his only love in his life. Cold memories unravelled in his shadowy mind. The darkness pinched and played with his subconscious.

Big Boss had come here to track down Adamska, (codename 'Ocelot') and all this was doing was slowing him down, forcing him to remember. Forcing him to suffer.

He turned his head round and looked at his terrain. The forest lay ahead of him, and the mountain cliff had been supporting his back. He looked in his pocket and picked up his lighter. He then flicked his cigar up to his mouth and flamed the end of it, took a puff and clenched it in between his teeth.

He could feel a stinging sensation in his calf muscle, but all he was concentrating on was to let Ocelot take the first move. The woods looked almost heavenly. Wrapped in snow, the trees were swaying from side. The powdery substance made it almost invisible.

Suddenly, a bullet bounced off the cliff wall and almost connected with Boss. Luckily, he had moved out of the way quickly enough. He scanned his terrain, looking from left to right and then into the forest. Was he using a sniper?

"Come out, come out. John!" The young voice he had once heard sounded gruff as the FOXHOUND operative lay on the snowy ground with his colt 45 held in his right hand. He grasped a knife from his right leg pocket and held it underneath his colt.

Remember what I told you about CQC… 

"I admire how well you've aged on the outside, John. But how's your interior? Still a great fighter?"

Boss cocked his M1911A1. He placed six bullets in the handgun. And turned round the corner of the large boulder he was behind. He began to lift himself off the ground. He still couldn't see his attacker. Ocelot was hiding somewhere, and whatever Big Boss did, he would find him. Two can play at the waiting game. _If I'm not quick enough, I'm beaten._

With a huge rush of adrenaline, Big Boss ran toward the forest, head down and gun raised. Three shots echoed in the forest and birds rustled in the trees and flew to shelter.

He crouched down behind another large boulder and pulled out another knife. He looked around the corner and threw it at the largest branch to the right of the forest. _I've got you now_, he thought.

Trying to run again, he tripped on a stone lodged in the ground.

_Shit. _

The next bullet hit Boss in the back of his leg, and Adam was revealed as he walked out of the forest.

"It's been nine long years, John," Ocelot laughed, looking at Big Boss's disgruntled figure crumpled on the ground. Ocelot kneeled next to his former enemy. "What's the matter, John?" The bullet that had hit Boss was a dud. The FOXHOUND operative smiled as he began to prepare his next move.

In an instant, Boss's foot connected sharply with the back of Ocelot's leg, forcing him to fall backwards, and he landed with a large thud on the harder, snow-compressed ground.

"How's the eye?"

Boss snickered, in spite of himself, as he holstered his M1911A1.

"Wanna know why I'm here, or are you just gonna shoot at me all day?" Big Boss pulled taunt as he gasped for air in the wind's chilling ache. He began to kneel up as he holstered his now frosty handgun. The large mountains to the North became clear to him again, as he wiped the salty water from his stinging left eye. The view calmed him, and he tried to think of how he would find peace in his mind.

Adam stood up and walked toward the forest again. John followed behind until he stopped in front of a large tree.

"This is the largest Canadian Pine in the forest, you know?" Adam started to pace his panting for air as he spoke once more. He took off his beret and brushed the snow off of it and placed it carefully back on his head.

"Will you join me on the battlefield once more? Not as enemies, but as friends alike." Big Boss asked, staring into the back of Adamska.

The CIA agent lowered his head, and then took in a deep breath of exhaustion. "I have never considered the beauty of nature, I have always thought of war. There was never any time for consideration and decisions. The battlefield is full of surprises, and you never know what is coming. When you are in combat, all you think about is to win, and to keep fighting until you serve your purpose. In the wild, one never has to serve anyone else but himself or herself. I want to find peace one day, John. I'm usually a cynical bastard. That's probably my upbringing. You are who you are…" Adam pulled out his Colt Single Action Army and began to spin it repetitively around his finger, before cycling three times. Then the weapon would jump to the next finger and the cycle would begin again. After four turns, he holstered the gun and grinned.

"But now is the time for war." Adam turned to Big Boss and held out his hand. Big Boss stared at the hand with his right eye; smiling and then going on to shake Adam's hand. He started walking backup the mountain slope with Adam trailing behind.

"Where are we going?"

"…Hell."

**Author's note: **Thanks for your reviews so far. I've taken your advice and cut out the stupid weapons introduction. I know this has started very slowly, but the next few chapters will be longer and more action packed.


	2. Chapter One: Urban War

_You cannot teach a man anything; you can only help him discover it in himself._  
-Galileo Galilie

**CHAPTER ONE  
**

--Washington DC 1971 --

The aura of pine slowly evolved into the strong smell of cigarette butt and petrol fuel. The cloudy sky revolved into a black night sky lit up by street lamps and neon lights. The plane came to a bumpy halt and the two allies pulled their baggage out of the compartments above their seats. They began to make their way to the exits.

"Want me to carry any of your luggage, guys?" Arnold chuckled cheerfully, wiping a coffee moustache off his upper lip.

Big Boss frowned at the pilot and then carried on to the exit that let out life and invited a swirl of cool air. The large concrete airport had been closed off for governmental secrecy and for the public not to panic about Vietnam. Their path they were about to walk was going to be a tough one and a challenge beyond their past missions and experiences.

"You got anyone else apart from me for this mission, John?"

"From now on, it's Big Boss." The Boss's protege turned to Ocelot and took one hard look at him, then looked back and walked ahead. The slight breeze made him shiver in an uncomfortable frenzy. Ocelot looked confused with a sense of indecency.

The weather had changed slightly. Instead of raging winds, there was an awkward breeze drifting across the large city. David Arnold pushed in front of the two allies to unlock the doors of the airport. His ignorance was a nag on Boss's part. He didn't need this. The room became illuminated with the bright, intense yellow of the headlights. Three men stood in the room: The Secretary of Defence and two federal agents.

"Secretary Jackson, this is Adamska Romanovitch. He is my first recruit for the FOXHOUND next generation special forces. Codename-Ocelot." Ocelot shook the hand of Secretary Jackson with a smile, as Boss handed his rucksack to one of the guards and walked back to lock the doors to the runway.

"Pleased to meet you, Adam," The Secretary of Defence, David Jackson grunted, in a monotone voice that felt uncomfortable listening to. He was holding a piece of paper in his left hand. "I think this could be of use to you, Boss." The stout man called to Big Boss across the room, presenting the file to him.

Taking the file, Big Boss read out loud: "Jason Striker, expert in explosives and hand to hand combat…" Looking up, he examined David Jackson. "Are these soldiers who are available for FOXHOUND?"

"I would think so yes, they are the best of the best, Boss. We have also arranged your stay at the Carson Hotel…"

Big Boss examined the file once again and read out loud: "Roy Campbell: Green Berets?"

He folded the piece of paper in half and slotted it into his right pocket. "Are you sure these men are good enough for the job? I don't want anyone falling behind."

He took a support bandage from the guard at the side of the room and began to wrap his swollen thigh. Pulling out another cigar, he lit it and walked to the secretary of defence and sniffed.

"All you need to do is sign by each name you want to recruit, and we'll take it from there on in…" Silence interrupted as the former 'FOX' operative took a pen and signed along side the name Roy Campbell and Jason Striker and then handed the file back to his superior.

The political figure looked dismayed as he found only two names were signed.

"I'd think you'd need a dozen soldiers-"

"All we need is three more people."

"Well, where do you suppose we find the third person, Boss?" The FOXHOUND leader walked out of the room with Ocelot trailing behind and the secretary looked on in dismay.

These were the cold days of winter's touch in Washington. Boss had emerged from the jungle in high spirits-possessed of a new breadth of purpose-only to have the tranquil hand of destruction swipe the world he craved for from underneath his nose. He wanted a peaceful life soon, but the war had to keep raging until he could find solitude. People like Big Boss were under the arrest of the government in a way. For their abilities they were condemned to a life of pain and plague. But then blessed with a will to go on and a cure no one else could find. Bravery and boldness, a will of their own. No one could take something like that away from them.

But at this moment his mental conscious had tricked his body into easy submission. And when he tried to run or move, the curse his senses had been put on was abominable and misleading. Without a mental stability, the body cannot function properly, even with the best reflexes or the best strength a soldier could have.

The haze of cigar smoke and paranoia had troubled Ocelot's mind as he looked around him in the vast space of the road Boss and Adamska were walking down. Ocelot had told Big Boss of a sniper under The End's training he had been informed of by 'The Boss' in the Snake Eater fiasco. And he was told she was of great loyalty of The End.

"Tell me where we find her." Boss had enquired; aware of the wisdom and absolute tyranny The End was capable of in sniper battle. And if his student was what he expected of, then it was going to be a hell of an effort recruiting her. They didn't have that much time left until they were going to Vietnam, so interrogating local suspects seemed the fastest approach at that time. She was located down south of the city.

Ocelot led the way down the roads. The air was rapid, cold and bitter.

"The 'Transatlantic' night club. We need to check the place out, most of the important mob leaders and gang members go there. They might have some information. " Big Boss was surprised at the knowledge Ocelot had of most of the areas in the America. One day he's in Quebec telling him of the largest Canadian Pine in the forest and then he's informing him of the different mob figures in Washington.

The buildings began to grow and the amount of people started to rise as they made their way through the dark. As they turned around the corner, Ocelot stopped Big Boss.

"It's just down here…" A large building lay ahead of them, and the erupting shouts of the crowds drowned out their attempts of communicating with each other. The large crowds were soon pushed aside by the two assassins and the entry became clearer to them.

An abnormally wide man stood in the entrance, with his arms folded and a large suit wrapping his body. His sunglasses reflected neon light and street lamps' glow into the eyes of Boss and Ocelot.

"You have to show your passes and then I'll let you-"

"We don't have to show you anything." Ocelot prodded his single action army in the chest of the large man, and stared into his sunglasses with remorse. The man simply looked away. "Lead us to your employer's office. Or I'll blow your fucking heart to dust." The man looked back and realised he was serious.

He eventually led the two operatives through the glowing interior. The disco ball blinded many in the temperate environment and the music deafened their ears but they simply kept on screaming and dancing until they had no more energy. None of them were going to hear or see anything Boss and Ocelot were going to do. The balcony's passage came to a halt, as they stood in front of a large caged door. Their captive grunted as he slid his pass card through an electronic device connected to the wall at the side.

"You tell them that we're here and you're a dead man, understood?" Big Boss pulled out his Colt 45 from his side holster and stepped to the side of the door. Ocelot followed Boss' lead and waited for the door to open. The door slid open with a slick; motorised sound and the large man walked into the room. A group of two Caucasian men stood at the door at the far side of the room.

"Are you clear?" The guards, both physically sound and well built mouthed, frowning at their overweight ally. Ocelot and Big Boss waited in silence at the two sides of the door, stalling for the exact time in which to strike.

"Are you clear?" The guard on the right called again, frowning harder and stiffly. The large man frowned back and tilted his head backward.

The guards realised his trauma and tried to land him off with a 'Okay, it's safe to walk through' line, to try and trick the two operatives into easy submission.

"_On the count of three, one…two…" _Gunshots erupted from the guards' assault rifles as they sprayed the doorway with spearheaded bullets. The large man jumped into cover behind a wooden table at the side of the room.

The return fire was less rapid; the two FOXHOUND operatives ended the battle quickly with four bullets each to the legs and abdomen of their enemies. Blood sprayed out of the legs in an unbearable collapse. And smeared the walls with crimson slime. Before the blood could stain, Big Boss ran over to the guard at the right hand side and used a bandage to suppress an amount of the bleeding. Going on to use some bandage to wipe the splatters of interior off the walls. Ocelot went over to their unwise captive and shot a hole in his right kneecap, causing screams of pain and agony from his lips. Boss turned round to his companion in alert.

"What the hell do you think you are doing?" He shouted, advancing on the younger, less experienced of their alliance.

"If he dies, then how are we going to find our fifth recruit?"

"Relax, Boss. It's only a flesh wound-" Boss smacked the wall with his right hand, causing a great deal of pain to relapse his arm and opening flaps of dead skin on his knuckles; releasing a trickle of blood.

"One shot can make the difference, Ocelot. One shot. If you waste it on your own sick hobby, then it could result in your death. Don't make the same mistake again." Turning to the rocking, bleeding exterior of their captive, Big Boss took the card out of his right pocket and held it up to Ocelot.

"It's not that big a deal, John." Before Boss could get to the door to the next room, he turned again to Ocelot. His eyes signified an ignorance he couldn't bare.

"…If you die on the mission, it will be that big a deal…By the way, you're going to have to help this guy walk the rest of the way." Swivelling around, they carried on through the night-club with Ocelot behind his 'superior'.

The large corridor in front of them was a good place to stop and catch their breath for a second.

"Permission to press for information, Boss." Ocelot retorted, looking toward the far side of the corridor. He erupted his words with a sense of indignity.

"Permission granted. Get as much information from him as possible. And _don't _think of trying to torture him." His hand raised to his eye-patch and patted it softly. The bearded face followed with a sinister grin. Ocelot retracted his Single Action Army out of his right holster and pointed it to the head of their hostage and smiled as he pulled out his second Colt out of his left holster. He loaded the gun and rotated the barrel gradually, smiling at his victim.

"Let's play a game of Russian Roulette, shall we?

"People like you know won't have any idea of what that is. It doesn't matter. I like it when that happens. It creates a more of suspense in the atmosphere." Ocelot spun the handgun around his finger and took a shot at the floor. The weapon failed to release a bullet from its nozzle. Nonetheless, he put the gun to his nose and took a huge whiff of its smell.

"I love the smell of cordite. You know, that sulfery smell? You must of smelt how gunshots are, right?"

The sweaty, bleeding bodyguard from outside trembled as Ocelot started to spin each handgun alternatively to his index finger on each hand. Ocelot stopped the two handguns, pointed them toward their prisoner and looked to Boss. Boss looked back and nodded affirmatively.

"What's your name, and where are you from?" Ocelot growled at his target.

"…My…my name is…Carl, and I come from New York."

"How appropriate. I hate New Yorkers…" His eyes looked down to Carl's stomach. "How much do you weigh, Carl?"

"Wha…what?" His face trembled fiercely, and his eyes were full of salt water. Boss looked over to Ocelot. He didn't approve. But, everyone had their own way of doing things.

"I hate men who question me. That's two minus points." Sniggering softly, he clicked the right handgun's trigger at his stomach. A small yelp came from Carl's throat, and he began to move his body back by his arms.

"So, Carl. Not the punctual one? I bet your about nineteen stone. Say, ever heard of a woman named Kitanya Hiroshima? Japanese, likes to kill people.

"…No…" Carl shivered, looking fearfully at Ocelot.

"No? Are you lying to me, Carl?" Ocelot advanced closer to Carl, pointing his two handguns at his kneecaps.

"Well, it looks like there'll be hell to pay. I'm going to shoot your legs. Everyone needs his or her legs, Carl. Even someone like you: fat and lazy." Ocelot pressed his fingers on the triggers of the two handguns. Luckily for the hostage, they were only clicks of empty rounds. Carl screamed at the handguns, shielding his face with his hands.

"Where's your boss? What's her name?" Ocelot smiled, slowly bending down and pressing the weapon against his nose. Carl squeaked and breathed heavier. The agitation his hostile possessed became greater and greater.

"Take a good whiff, it's the last smell you'll ever have before I splatter your brains over this _nice,_ comfy, concrete floor." Boss looked over again and walked toward the hostage. There was no time for delay.

"Let's do things my way." Boss retorted, pulling out his colt 45. His hand grabbed at the scruff of the neck of the hostage and went down to smack him hard in the face, right across the cheek.

"Where is your boss!" Big Boss bellowed, spraying saliva over Carl's face. He had become a nervous wreck.

"V…Vixen's upstairs…Black Vix…" He soon passed out, and Boss became mobile once more as he began to run to the stairs.

"Clear the way! Get those people away from the night-club!"


	3. Chapter Two: Black Vixen

_All human actions have one or more of these seven causes: chance, nature, compulsions, habit, reason, passion, desire… _

–_Aristotle_

CHAPTER TWO

Slamming his feet up the stairs, the FOXHOUND operative was relentless in his attempt to get to the top of the building. Perhaps, she had been observing them all along. And now she was making her escape.

"You clear the crowd, so we can get a better chance of finding her. Go!" Boss had shouted to Ocelot, he wanted for him to get outside and make space. That's the time before Boss had made his headway up the stairs.

A burst of energy saw him rush up the last flight of stairs, and all of a sudden, a bullet connected with the wall on his left. He looked up and observed a shadow speed across the floorboards above him. There were large footsteps following that. The beat of his legs on the stairs could break the wood beneath him. But he didn't care, as long as he could get to his assailant.

-

Ocelot ran onto the main dance floor and took out his two SAAs. He began to fire at the ceiling, bursting loud noises all around the building. The alert was sounded and the alarm bells rang, battering the ears of those around him. Suddenly, the corner of Ocelot's eye caught several guards. They ascended their assault rifles and began to fire on the floor beneath him. The crowd began to disperse and ran screaming out of the building. He soon dived into a forward roll behind an amplifier screwed to the grating in front of him. Twisting his head around the back of the music conductor, he brought his two handguns with him, and fired three bullets that simply hit the walls either side of the room. Chilling clicks of his handguns' lack of ammunition followed the ear-splitting shots. Dipping his hand into his inner pocket, he pulled out a hand full of bullets. He was undoubtedly surrounded. Something had to give.

-

The night sky became clearer to Boss once again, and the urban scents dazzled his sinuses with a huge whiff of cold air after a long hike up the stairway. His breath was held for a second, and then released in a sharp cough. His surroundings came clearer to him as he pulled a MK-22-T (Tranquilliser handgun) from his sidearm holder. A clear, flat scenario brushed his stinging eye as the wind snatched the breath right out of him. Larger buildings surrounded his rooftop scenario, looming over it in a tranquil shadow. She could be anywhere. Anywhere…

Pulling his legs forward cautiously, his eyes darted from left to right, piercing the shadow. A gunshot echo alerted his brain, and he diffused it as a distant memory of earlier missions. He couldn't walk any further, and his head bounced from side to side in confusion. The pain moved down to his side, and his clothes were soon dampened with a badge of red. Dropping his head toward the ground, his eyes focused, as the cold floor was cursed with droplets of blood.

"_Sniper bullets…_" He growled, in his haze of dizziness. He was losing himself gradually, mind, body and soul. The footsteps approaching him simply passed him by. Light was becoming dark.

"I have been waiting for this moment for seven years…Now you will feel the pain my master felt as you made his end a nightmare." A sniper rifle was pressed to his skull, adding more of suppression to his consciousness.

"_N…Nightmare?_" Big Boss spluttered, as this mind reminded him of Ocelot's words. She was the End's protégé, but he had never killed the End as if it were a nightmare.

-

Adamska's handguns were soon loaded with six bullets each. The handguns were like two lifelines for him, held close to his chest, he stood up with a long, daunting breath. Like it was his last. The chilling feel of steel against skin was brought upon him soon afterwards and heavy breathing could be heard beside him.

"Get your hands up, and throw your weapons to the floor!" One of the guards had spat spitefully, holding the assault rifle toward Ocelot. The steel was pressed even harder into his temple, and Ocelot dropped his weapon.

"Okay, now the other one!"

'Might as well…' 

Ocelot's eyes darted back and forth from his handgun to the guard. In a sudden sense of misjudgement, he tossed his weapon into the air and thundered a right hand blow into the solar plexus of the man in front of him. Another blow saw the guard spinning, and Ocelot ripped the man's neck toward him, holding him in a choking position. The soaring weapon fell into the grasp of Ocelot, and his finger pressed instinctively three times on the trigger of his weapon, firing down three assailants in a split second. His use for the hostage had expired, and his enemy was soon dragged over the balcony.

-

"You have assassinated my master, so now you will suffer the consequences!"

The adrenaline was the only thing keeping him going, and his rush became stronger and stronger as he kneeled up and gritted his teeth. Dark became light once again.

Boss span around and connected his right-boot with Vixen's stomach. Her body became limp for a second and she landed harshly with the cold concrete. A heartbeat later, she leapt to her feet and rushed toward him. Her right hand connected sharply with Boss' inside leg and jumped up to knee him in the face. He stumbled back clumsily as the blood rushed to his head. She went for a right hand blow to his abdomen, but failed undoubtedly costly as Boss numbed her face with a cold thud to her cheek. His powerful biceps pulled her forward and threw her back on to the floor with a trip on her ankle.

"I haven't come to fight you, but you've made it clear…" She pulled herself up from the ground furiously as she threw her fist toward his face, which was swept out of the way by Boss' back hand. "…That we have to go through with this…" Vixen was soon taken down with a leg sweep.

Another attack ceased to harm Boss in any way, as he took her arm, twisted it violently and snapped it up to her back. He held his knife to her throat as she screamed.

"Listen to me!"

-

Ocelot's handgun was all out of bullets save one, as he scoured the plain anxioisly. No one could be seen to his view. Little did he know that one guard sat ready behind another amplifier in the room.

Ocelot thought it was over, and all was done except for the capture of Black Vixen. But, with a sudden outburst of sound and energy, the guard pulled his assault rifle to the ready and began to fire blindly around Ocelot's area. His instincts told him to roll out the way, but he stood rooted to the spot, blind with surprise and confusion. Bullets pierced his clothes only once, with a bullet to the arm; which alerted him to react with a gunshot of his own. The bullet dug deep into the guard's face, with a spray of blood swerving away from his head.

-

"The End and I were never friends or allies, and I took his life on the battlefield. But I had never made it such a nightmare. His last request before dying was for me to fight him to the end." Big Boss threw his attacker to the floor and holstered his knife. As she began to stand up, he saw her face. She was of Japanese origin and had her hair tied back in a kind of bow. Wearing a silhouette of translucent silk over her delicate face. The clothes she wore were a black, leather body suit that glowed in the reflection of the full moon. Illuminating her in awe.

"What do you want from me?" She braced her twisted arm with her right hand

"I want you to join FOXHOUND. It's a special unit for top-secret government missions."

Vixen looked up into his one eye and across to his eye-patch. His face made her realising a history of war and pain in his soul. She for one knew about war and sacrifices. War had been her life.

"What would I get from this?" She began to question, staring up at the large, bearded man in front of her.

"You get to walk away from all of this. No imprisonment for your murder cases. A new life you can lead. There's no catch from there." He looked down to the sniper rifle lay across the ground and heaved it up with his large arms. The grip of the rifle was nothing he had felt before and the scope had been advanced to three different views. A forgery of military weapons, but a good one at that. He still preferred original craftsmanship.

"…What do I call you?" She looked back up to his face. It started to spasm clearly because of the pain he suffered.

"For now it's John, if you decide to join me it's…Big Boss."

Dropping the rifle, he walked over to the balcony and looked toward his side and cringed as his view became distorted.

"You're hurt…" She began, rooted to the spot and staring into the wound in his side.

"It's nothing I can't handle…" He looked away and laughed as he remembered this hadn't been the worst shape he'd been in. A cigar was the best medicine he had, so he placed one between his lips and lit it with a match.

"What did my master say when he died?"

"He said something about the spirits in the forest." Boss blew a lining of smoke through his lips and held his side. It hurt too much. "It was his time to go. Everyone gets sick of life at some time. But I have to admit, he pulled off one hell of a fight."

Vixen said nothing.

"Anyway, the FBI will be here any minute guns blazing. They'll give you ten seconds to come out and then they get to do what they want." He puffed hard at the eroding cigar and threw it over the balcony. His face cringed as the pain screamed through his veins. "You'd better give yourself up because the way you fight is not going to help you against these guys."

Vixen said nothing.

Boss turned away and held his side. It wasn't so much as a stinging pain, rather a rush of blood that seemed to pulse it through his body. He couldn't explain it.

As Boss walked into the main hall of the nightclub, he looked to Ocelot and stared at the spatters of blood stained across his face. This had been a massacre. Ocelot was reloading his SAAs once more. He spun them around his fingers and holstered the weapons quickly.

"We've got our next recruit." Boss hesitated breathing even more rapidly; blood rushed to his head and his walk was degraded to a stumble. With a slight lift of his arm, Ocelot realised the thick blood washing away from a dirty wound. He walked in front of him as he went for the door and looked down to his chest.

"How do you know?" Ocelot panted.

"She'll come round. No one can take on the FBI without an arm." Boss' breaths were as good as an asthma attack to him. The bullet was blocking his circulation. Lead was seeping into his blood, he couldn't respire.

"Boss?" Ocelot enquired, bowing his head to look into his eye, focused on the concrete.

Boss ripped his shirt from his torso and threw it into the litterbin beside him. Government vehicles came screeching onto the scene, just like Boss said. The officials held their guns pointed toward the building's entrance and exit. Wherever Vixen was, she was surrounded whatever the cost.

"Come out of the building on the count of ten. One! Two! Three-" 'Black Vixen came walking out of the building entrance. Hands held high, but her left arm was shaking with the pain. Her eyes met Boss' as she was forced into a police car. They looked into each other liked they knew each other for a millennium. Paramedics came rushing to Boss, and scoured his body for the wound.

"We're going to have to remove the bullet in your side, or you will die of blood poisoning or a significant loss of blood. We have to operate, sir." Boss looked up and shook his head from side to side. Signalling 'no' and confusing the doctors aiding him. The loss of blood made him confused and unaware. He was drowning.

Boss's eye rolled into his head and a mix of blood and vomit spewed from his mouth.

"How are you doing, Boss? I told you that you should have only looked for people on the file." Jackson chuckled, in spite of the fact that Boss had been injured doing things his way. One of the doctors took a bandage and wrapped it round his waist, to keep the circulation live while they transported him to a hospital.

The paramedics lay him down on a stretcher, and wrapped his quivering body with an itchy blanket. Soon afterwards they rolled him into the back of the ambulance and fed him to a morphine tank.

"What's the recruitment situation, Sir?" Ocelot took the Secretary to the side and held his shoulder with one hand.

"Striker and Campbell have been briefed, and you will be able to be on your mission in a week's time." He looked over to the police car Vixen had been sat into. She simply looked on as she sat quietly in the back of the police vehicle. Boss had been hurt badly, and she knew that.

**Author's Note:** Thanks for the feedback, you'll be pleased to know I've taken that weapons intro out of the prologue. Please stay tuned, more chapters coming your way!


	4. Chapter Three: A Life of War

_Maybe this world is another planet's Hell... _

Aldous Huxley (1894-1963)

CHAPTER THREE 

A vicious wound healed up rapidly for Big Boss, as he was driven to the government airport for the second time in a fortnight. The wind was once again torrential, blowing trees to a bend and forcing men and women to hold onto their hats and scarves as they fought against the backfiring blow of the horrendous breeze. Cars seemed to rock and have a mind of their own, as he observed the outside world with his good eye. An aggravating bump of the vehicle caused honks of civilians' horns as they shook along the usual route of work and labour. The van he occupied came to a smooth stop as he heaved his bags out and walked toward the main doors.

A once again deserted airport caused confusion and panic in the minds of workers and citizens of Washington. Boss pushed open the double doors after stating who he was in the intercom with a twinge in his right side; he could feel the small ripple of excess blood shake in his stomach. It made him sick. A group of six other people became visible to him in the waiting area with a floor wrapped in a satin red carpet. He could recognise Ocelot, Vixen and Secretary David Jackson, but that was it. Two of the others were definitely the recruits he had signed for and the next man wore a black suit and holstered a handgun with a small grip.

"Big Boss, this is Roy Campbell and Jason Striker, your newest recruits. Striker and Campbell, you'll refer to this guy as your boss." Secretary Jackson looked at Boss' rib cage and chuckled pretentiously.

"So, Boss. How's your-"

"Striker, Campbell. You will be referred to as 'Red Hawk', Campbell, you will be simply 'Jaguar'. If any of us fall behind, they'll be left behind. We have radio intercom to communicate if anything like that happens. I hope you can all co-operate with each other. I'll have no cowardice, conflict or any shit from you. Do you understand?" The interruption was far from appropriate in Jackson's mind. All four of the recruits nodded, and started to make way to the jet provided outside.

Jackson's right hand rested on Big Boss's shoulder as he looked on to the government plane outside. Boss's eye shred through Jackson's soul as he looked around, a signal for him to get away; like an animal in the wild. Boss had become just that, an animal with vital instincts to attack whenever necessary and a territorial instinct meanwhile.

-- Zaire 1958 --

The Boss looked over to Jack and found him rustling through the large rucksack containing their weaponry for the training exercises they were about to perform. His hand ran down the nozzle of a colt 45, and his eyes observed the grip it possessed. They were riding via a government plane to Zaire for further training after their mission in North Korea with the Green Berets. The Boss smiled as Jack glared at it once more. Jack began to load and reload the gun alternatively, still overwhelmed by the weapons they had.

Their plane descended to a small runway and dragged its wheels across the ground.

"Jack. It's time." The Boss stared, as Jack shoved the weapons back in the bag and heaved it over his shoulder. The door of the plane was opened manually by the pilot and the two warriors stepped briskly down the flight of steel stairs below them. Air was slow and uncomfortable; the sun plummeted tons of sunlight down upon the concrete floor, baking the asphalt. A furnace, inviting any nomads to enter.

The scorching heat of the African climate peeled the skin off Jack's nose. His clothes already began to become wet and soggy with oily sweat. Their journey across the runway had expired as they looked on to the hut in front of them. Children ran out of the inn and to the Caucasian couple. Their clothes were tattered, yet they still had brilliant manners to perform such a greeting.

The two began to walk away to the Zaire River, where their training would begin. Crystal liquid stroked around meanders, almost with a mind of its own. The trickle of silky water calmed Jack's nerves against the rage of the sun. They were walking by a cornfield when The Boss began to question him.

"Why did you choose to fight, Jack?" The question stunned Jack as he hooked the bag over a post on the fence. Of all people, _she_ was asking this.

"It's the only thing I was designed for. I cannot do anything else with my life."

"Wrong. You made a choice at a young age to become a warrior, and now, as you become more aware that this burden will weigh you down for the rest of your life, you make petty excuses. Where were you born?"

Jack pondered this for a second whether to answer or not. It enraged him gradually as the heat wetted his clothes.

"I can't remember."

"You can't remember?"

"I _can't _remember."

"So, tell me Jack, where were you when you decided to go to the US Army?"

He looked up to her face as she looked at his. Her blank expression worried him as the question daunted on his mind.

"…Hawaii. I was born a Japanese-American child."

"Did it annoy you that you were a half breed?" Jack focused his eyes tightly on hers, the birds and crickets chirped in the morning draught, as the rain began to pour down on their heads. The pitter-patter of rain refreshed Jack. His clothes became more and more wet, but flushing out the sweaty pores and letting the warm liquid cover his body.

"I didn't really think much of it."

"I despise your ignorance." Boss retorted, as she smacked him in the face with a sharp backhand blow.

He couldn't suppress his anger much longer, as he gritted his teeth and went to pull out a handgun out of the bag. She grabbed his hand and threw him back into the fence as the gun dropped to the floor.

"Anger is the worst motive you can have for battle. It will slow you down; you'll forget all of your skills and become weak. One shot of a bullet could kill you, and when your weakness is revealed, you become your weakness. That's the difference between being self-conscious, and being ignorant."

These words meant a lot to him. He began to realise the wisdom of his partner in training. She reached over the fence and pulled two cobs of corn from the rich soil. Jack placed the weapon in the sack and they carried on walking, eating their maize.

**Author's Note: **Thanks for the feedback, people. You may feel robbed by this chapter's shortness but rest assured everything is going MGS 3 on all your asses in the following chapters.

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	5. Chapter Four: Highway to Hell

_"And I looked, and behold a pale horse: and his name that sat on him was Death, and Hell followed with him." _

- Revelations 6:8

CHAPTER FOUR

The jet bellowed roaring flames from the back of its large figure, and it began to lift above the bitter asphalt below. The waves of heat from the vehicle interrupted the wind as the wheels slowly pulled into the bottom of the aircraft. Boss looked around at his comrades. He knew all but one of them none of them very well at all, but started to analyse their appearances.

The gruff face of Jason Striker, stamped with a large moustache and a small, half-smoked cigar bobbing up and down out of his dry lips. His coat, rapping his body and brushing the floor, was a beige, suede trench coat. The hat he wore was a cowboy hat, like from one of those Western films.

Big Boss slipped a Cuban cigar into his own mouth. His hand fondled a matchbox in his side pocket, but as he pushed the small drawer out of it, he could find no matches in its compartment. Lifting his head ever so slightly, he looked over to Striker. His associate looked back with a squint, and threw over a box of matches as if he knew exactly what he was going to say. The dwindling light pierced through the window, and the sun reached past a cloud and hid behind it. The weather was going to change soon.

Apart from the rumbling of the engines and shake and shimmy of the equipment in the jet, all was silent. It was the first bit of quiet Boss had had for a long time. His eyes began to droop gradually, but he couldn't sleep. And of all times he had to pick to fall asleep, this was the worst. They were about to go into Vietnam; they were about to have America on their shoulders.

The jet was oily with human sweat but hot and dry. It felt like a sauna, and that's not what they needed.

Vixen through back her hair and tied it carefully, it was just like a child bored with the heat, the whole idea of sitting in a lower class aeroplane for five more hours made her hot and bothered.

A match was lit, breathing fire onto a brown tube in a man's mouth. Puffs of smoke smacked themselves at the ceiling, almost like they were trying to escape. Silence was still at large in the room, and Ocelot stood leaning against the bag rack on a side-wall stricken with rust and stains that just reflected the history of its structure.

Big Boss' radio beeped furiously and the frequency flashed on its screen. 145.56. Attaching his earphones carefully he answered the call.

"John, long time no see." Boss recognised the voice; it was Captain Lucius Paulman of the Green Berets. They had worked with each other on countless occasions, and his voice had become even gruffer.

"Lucius, what brings you into this situation?"

"They looked up my files and decided I was good enough for the job on informing you of your mission objectives. I'll be your adviser throughout the mission. Like old times, eh?"

Boss remembered when he was showing Lucius the ropes in the Green Berets. Lucius was never too good in hand to hand combat, but a brilliant marksman. His sight was like an Eagle's. He'd boast about his kills to others, and say how the poor bastard would fall. The Boss didn't approve at all at his behaviour. Usually he'd be carrying haystacks up and down the hill for miles on end. John sniggered.

"Yeah, like old times. Actually, my codename is Big Boss." They had only been mutual friends back in the Berets, their understanding of each other didn't surpass the level of contact out of the job. Hell, Boss hadn't a phone until a few years back. He wasn't with the times, but he had plenty of time to get used to new technology.

"Oh, yeah. Sorry about that, I'm just not used to this codename lark…My codename is Weasel, dunno were that came from…Hey, isn't it funny how **I'm** telling **you **what to do? Quite Ironic really." His parents were British, but he had emigrated to the US when he found he couldn't get a job in London. "Anyway, J- I mean Boss, I'll contact you again when it's fifteen minutes to drop-off. Good luck, and get the others to get ready."

"Thanks."

From a hunched position the FOXHOUND commander pulled himself up with a leap in his gut, telling him that this was going to be hard and long. This is going to be the bad old days all over again; this is going to be the unnecessary vast murders all over again. This was going to be war, and he was going to be in the middle of the crossfire, from whoever that firing's going to come from.

The cold thing in his stomach urges for him to sit down again, and he knows he should be used to stress, used to the cold stomachs, the shivering of backs, the urge to vomit…but those days had changed. Thiswas war. They were sitting there, on a highway to Hell, and no one's doing anything to soothe the tension.

"Anyone got any stories to tell?" Silence had been hit square in the eyes with a question that could have saved their journey. Ocelot seemed bemused at the question and sniggered.

"Me and Boss have our fair share of stories to tell. By the way, love the hat." Ocelot looked up at Hawk, who also seemed to have a knack for liking Western films. He had a certain persona about him, quite fearful and aggressive. It was a presence that seemed to make others scratch their heads and turn away without him looking. Good for battle, brilliant for protection, bad for sociability. Before the room could become endeavoured with quiet once more, Vixen began to speak.

"We've all got our stories to tell. And I don't see these five hours going quickly. I'll start with my little intro and you guys follow with yours." Vixen took a knife from her rucksack and pierced the arm-rest of her seat with its blade. She had a knack for that. Hawk listened in closely as he looked into those two sparkly eyes of hers; the angelic face that was there before him.

"My real name is Kitanya, and my parents and I emigrated from Japan when I was twelve years old." Hawk tapped the middle of his cigar gently, with cindered tobacco rushing from the end. He wrapped his fingers around his hat and placed it on the bag rack. This was no place for hats anyway.

"My Father was a fish merchant, and he had dealings with the Yakuza. Mum was quite furious about that, but she couldn't really speak her own mind anyway, she was either doing housework or working in the town." Her smile was like an angel's as she put her silky legs up on the seat next to her. She looked the perfect woman in Hawk's eyes. His eyes gave him away, he desired her with the deepest of heart's content.

Campbell continued to load his gun and unload it, clocking the ring hammer with a curved hand. He'd not said one word. Boss had remembered his file, and remembered that he was with the Green Berets. He could have been familiar with Lucius.

"Anyway, anyone else have anything to say about family? Someone back home?" With a frightening glare, Ocelot turned away to the window and stared constantly out the glass in front of his blue eyes- two marbles rattling in a box of thought. His glare looked furious like the sun in an African summer, but not an anger Boss had seen on him before. It was even deeper than a tantrum, it was a thing that went further than that. It was more of a deep sadness that no one could explain.

"I've got a younger Brother…" Campbell clocked the ring hammer again and sighed with a hesitation that signalled a great lot of guilt. The gun slipped serenely out of his hand and crashed to the hard floor with a bounce.

"His name's Mike."

--FEB 1969**--**

--**Records extracted from the report of Malcolm Connelly, Alpha Squadron**--

**THE FOLLOWING INFORMATION IS CONFIDENTIAL.**

_C12 _

_Alpha squadron and I were to deliver a batch of weapons accordingly to S-Base 3279 (read subsection 89.9). We were transported via a jet flew by Captain John Brown (read subsection 56.6). By the time it was noon, we were on the landing pad and were provided with a forklift truck by Sergeant Yoji Shinkawa of the S-3279 site's patrolling guard (read C53 info paragraph). The batch of Armalite AR-10 1061mm assault rifles were transported in crates toward the rear warehouse when an explosion took off on the main deck. Swarms of guards began to sprint out of the sliding doors, fire on their backs and some rolling on the floor with severed limbs (read subsection 99.8 for more info). _

_C13 _

_My squadron and I took action and Captain Harewood tried to contact HQ, there was no reply so we took the rifles from the crates and took to HQ. Captain's orders. A few seconds later guards coloured in all black moved in on the Warehouse (read subsection 76.6). A tall man led the group, with white eyes and from what we saw he had one arm. In his other hand he was carrying a weapon of some sort. Perhaps unruly, but I may of thought they had took control due to the experiment within the underground tunnel. _

_C14 _

_Thankfully, the plane that transported us to the facility was undamaged, but the runway was soon broken apart by explosives of the sort. The assailant and his comrades had made their way to the Warehouse until another guard confronted them. From our distance, it seemed very vague but the man took his weapon and blasted him to the ground. The floor was soon bloody and darkly red._

_C15 _

_When they were out of sight we sneaked into HQ, and went to go to the South Wing to find the General. Shinkawa was shot down, along with Privates Timothy Holden and Matthew Brown (see subsections 50-63.9). A rogue squadron was hunting us down, and we made for the ventilation system. I used particular words to describe the Captain's misjudgement, and he went without me. I was without any one else. The noises were still at large for a while as I made my way back and forth through the ventiliation system. I found the Captain…he was in pieces when I found him. _

_C67 _

_Potentially the base was going to be used for weaponry tests, but now it's been taken over and it has the potential to hold nuclear weapons. I escaped, but the way it's being changed I have no idea how we will fight this. The place is **now** like Hell. There's no way out._

The pages of the lousy copy of the report were dog-eared already. It looked like it had been fished out of a kid's text book from pre-school.

"This is garbage…" The Director of the CIA through the report onto his desk in front of Private Miles Kraneur. He frowned vigorously. "When this gets to Washington the shit's gonna hit the fan. Whose going to believe in a fairy story about a one-handed man with black ninjas armed to the ready with nuclear weapons?" His cough was a raspy one; it felt like swilling too much beer at once and finding there's a bottle cap that's made its way down your throat. 

'_I can take this, I've had far worse...'_ He kept telling himself. And it was unmistakably true.

The room was a hot and cramped office full of paper and filing cabinets. A desk was rooted to the carpet with another stack of papers and a rolled up newspaper hanging from the edge of the wooden unit. Night-time and all the workers were all angered with itchy necks and sweaty backs, taking walks around the huge facility whenever they could. Nothing had really changed in the appearance for the past few months, but everyone was raring to work with everything that had happened.

"Sir?" Kraneur went to his boss and handed him a tissue with a smile. The Director of the CIA, Colin Walker, was a man pushing his seventies, ill with war and the times. Surprisingly he never smoked in his lifetime, but he had a breathing problem, perhaps asthma. He was a married man, two kids that worked in paper merchant jobs. Not really a huge lunge forward in the line of family Colin always thought, but it paid quite well and kept the boys alive. His wife was called Martha, who was a good twenty years younger than him. She had always implied that he worked himself too hard all the time, and maybe she was right. They brought the house down with an angry row the night before. The way she screamed was like she was mourning over a dead relative. The argument was about this and that, money and how he puts himself in so much danger, how she was avoiding work…

The Director straightened up and threw the tissue from Kraneur to the ground. "I don't need this, you fag. Get back to work." Without a single word, Kraneur walked out of the hot office. It had been a slow week. A week you just want to skip and get to the end of. But that was what he had been thinking for a long time, and he thought the job was getting beyond him. He chuckled calmly so as not to bring back that bastard cough he claimed to be unholy back up.

_'Remember, it's all for the money.'_

With a crouch to the floor, the Director grasped the tissue and dropped it in a bin with too much garbage. If this carries on, he thought, he'll attract flies.

With a deep slurp of coffee, the white-haired tactician grasped the phone and placed his coffee mug on the already stained table. He dialled a number and took his spectacles off, grabbing the report and holding it up in the dim light of a hanging lightbulb on a wire. 

The funding for the place was unbelievably cheap, for a government that put all of its faith in the CIA to investigate international terror. All Colin could do would be to thank old Harry Truman for the OSS. If that had never happened, he'd probably be on a lower paid job. The chairs were broken, the lights were dimly lit, the table was never replaced and the coffee tasted like watery milk. He thought someone had poisoned it, it tasted so bad. Walker shivered as the warm sensation of the substance crept down his throat. The phone was answered with a low voice.

"Yeah, Roark, it's Colin. Could you get Adam on the phone? It's important… 

"Adam, good to hear from you… I think there's someone we need you might have to get me a report on…. An old friend…"

**Author's Note**: Okay, maybe I lied about it being action-packed, but you can tell that's coming soon. Please stay tuned and more will come. Thanks again.


	6. Chapter Five: Bloodlines

_This chapter is dedicated to Chicken Fox's recent departure from the fanfiction world. God Bless that brilliant bastard._

"A prince ought to have no other aim or thought, nor select anything else for his study, than war and its rules and discipline; for this is the sole art that belongs to him who rules, and it is of such force that it not only upholds those who are born princes, but it often enables men to rise from a private station to that rank."- Niccolo Machiavelli

CHAPTER FIVE

Rain scratched at the windows of the swaying jet. The sun was far beyond reach behind many dark clouds. Wind threw its self against the outer layer of a steel aircraft carrying America's finest. It had been two hours and thirty minutes since take off, and time certainly hadn't flew by. Thoughts ploughed through the FOXHOUND leader's mind as he sat in a seat that was barely comfortable. It seemed they'd been talking for a lifetime. Campbell had left the quarters to apparently vomit in the toilets, but all were quite amazed at how a Green Beret was being crushed under pressure. Beyond all the talking, Boss's heart was the loudest thing he could hear. It thumped at his chest as if it wanted to escape; leaping around and barging like a stubborn child.

Vixen had been talking about her past. It had been gruesome, but everyone there had been involved in violent escapades. From four years old she had been trained many martial arts every day of her childhood. Aggression had become her own resolve, her only way to fight anything or to oppose anything. One fatal day she walked back from the dojo with a katana awarded to her for a tournament won in the town. She'd broken the nose of the boy who'd been in the final with her in three places. With her set of keys she began to unlock the door cautiously. She could hear heavy weeping, and her Father barked at her Mother with great ferociousness. Her Mother had been bruised painfully on the cheek, while trickles of icy water ran down her face. Little Kitanya pulled the door wide open so that her Father saw her fully. A rage so vile pulsed through her veins as she stood in that doorway with eyes of brimstone. She didn't care about the Yakuza, what she had learned from teachers in the Buddha temple. All she wanted was to cause suffering to this wormy man she was supposed to call a Father. She pulled the blade out of its baldrick and threatened him with its end. He screamed for mercy and begged at her feet until all he could do was run. Their family became two.

She was eleven years old.

Ocelot made to the next cabin of the aircraft and had been cleaning the barrel of his gun for the last hour. Boss couldn't get on to why he liked the gun so much; it was like he used it for a toy. Anyhow, he wasn't going to change, that was for damn sure.

Retching sounds were heard under the talk, and soon afterwards the rush of cold water was heard from a tap and Campbell came out with a towel to wipe his stained mouth. No one had looked at him. He turned away and walked to the bag rack. Again, he pulled out the colt and began to load it and reload it again. Hawk pulled an irritant glance at Campbell, and pulled at the cigar with thought. Tobacco dived onto the floor below him.

"Why did you join the Japanese Army? You weren't even a teenager yet." He talked before he thought. He'd joined the Army when he was only fourteen years of age. He hadn't told her about himself too much. Thankfully, Vixen hadn't taken it too seriously. With a glance back up at Snake she had a glint in her eye that reminded him of EVA. He looked away angrily.

"What's the matter?"

He must have answered that question too many times in his lifetime, but that didn't mean he was going to tell her why there and then. His grunt had signalled the end of the conversation negatively. Twenty of his heavy breaths later she still stared into him with intensity. Her hand slipped down his leg slowly. His heart pounded hard, and those butterflies awoke in his stomach that told him that she wanted him. Hawk hadn't taken any notice; he'd fallen asleep under the shelter of the bag rack and Campbell was too busy with that handgun. Those eyes again, those blue eyes. They hurt him too much, as they melted his soul and made him weak.

Boss stood up and walked away slowly but surely. He couldn't pass on his reasons, but simply walked away into the next cabin with an angry frown. Vixen didn't follow him; she didn't even stand up.

Three hours later- Twenty Minutes until drop-off 

"Son of a Bitch…" The pilot grunted, throwing his newspaper to the floor in irritation. "Damn Lakers, can't even win the damn play-offs for Christ's sake…" Pilot Terry Hildreth shot a glance at the co-pilot who seemed to not be taking notice of the Basketball scores and rather the job in hand.

"I'm going for a shit, just keep this thing in the air, you hear me?" Hildreth pulled himself out of the seat slowly and walked back toward the passenger cabin where the toilets were situated. He caught an eyeful of Vixen as she was pulling on her gear. With a wipe of the brow, the pilot pushed open the toilet door and walked in.

For the last three hours it had been the same routine over and over again. CQC had become almost foreign to Big Boss until he had that "training session" with Vixen. At least, that's what he liked to call it. The veins pulsed so much blood to his arms they could have burst, as he took the liberty of doing press-ups and physical exercises in the third cabin. The jet had been well made at least for room, but it didn't matter too much about the conditions. Sweat ran down his face like there was not tomorrow, his face pulled strained expressions every time a muscle was pulled too hard and blood filled his skull whenever he'd ceased an exercise. His arms wrapped around the pipe above him, and he pulled himself taunt as the weight of his body crushed against his biceps. A signal beeped on the wall, reading: 'landing soon'. Boss grunted, and sat down on a chair beside him. A wrinkly cigar lay down in an ash tray on a table in front of him. The glow of heat on the end of the tube eroded away, sprinkling ash onto the glass surface. He picked it up with ease, and pulled at it one last time before drop-off.

'Here we go…' He said to himself, crushing the perforated cigar on the ash-tray. He heaved himself up and stood at the door to the far side of the cabin and heard a beeping on his radio transmitter. It was the frequency: 145.56 . Boss answered the call. 

**Author's Note**: You're probably all wanting to tear out my throat for not putting in action in the supposed present, but don't worry. Thanks guys, and keep writing and reviewing. Merry Christmas to all. See you in the New Year.


	7. Chapter Six: Trapped

"_In War: Resolution. In Defeat: Defiance. In Victory: Magnanimity. In Peace: Good Will."_

_- Winston Churchill_

CHAPTER SIX

"How are you shaping up?"

"We're ready."

The Boss had helped train Lucius, mostly in field-work. Big Boss wondered why Lucius was chosen for this job, but only time would tell.

"Flying over Loc Ninh. Drop-off in two minutes."

Boss turned the volume on the radio frequency down as he looked toward his team, he could only hear the faint voice of Lucius. Reaching into his pocket he pulled out a cigar, chewed off the end with ease and slid open a box of matches. His fingers clenched the match as it glided across the side of the rough surface. A flame lit and brought the end of the cigar to life. Hawk smiled as he also lit a cigarette.

"It could be our last…" Hawk interrupted the silence and looked at Boss with an expressionless face.

"The way I see it…" Boss laughed and dragged the cigar with joy and breathed out a billow off smoke. "It's our first."

Hawk began to laugh. However, the oxygen mains were turned on, and the laughter faded as they put out their cigarettes. The crunched ash and tobacco glided through the air as the rear hatch was opened. Boss looked to Ocelot and nodded, and was granted with the same movement. He looked to Vixen and she bowed her head not to look at him. Boss grunted and pulled down his gas mask. As did they all. It was go-time. They edged toward the hatch and looked out willingly. Vixen, first to jump, dove into the multitudinous clouds below. The eyes of the FOXHOUND operatives soon lost her figure through the haze. Hawk edged toward the hatch and looked back to Boss to speak.

"You know, I think you're right." He grinned, as he fell into the sky. Campbell walked toward the rear hatch and peered back at Ocelot. His eyes met his, before he also dove into the clouds below.

Ocelot moved toward the hatch and stood awhile. He peered back to Boss and then fell back slowly through the opened hatch. Boss pulled his backpack on under the parachute, and started to move to the hatch. The plane shook violently and began to siren. Screams were heard from the pilots in the cockpit and gunshots followed. It was going to crash. The hatch soon began to close as the plane started to steady once more. His heart raced and thumped at his sternum as he could hear the loud footsteps and angry chatter of Vietnamese attackers. He scanned his area. This was not going to be short and sweet, but long and noisy.

The room was soon patterned with the attackers, wearing masks and holding AKs. Boss pulled out his knife and Colt. They pointed their weapons at Boss and he repaid the gesture as they shouted angrily in Vietnamese, until one edged forward and spoke in fluent English.

"Surrender now and you will not feel our wrath."

Boss grunted and edged backwards toward the hatch as they began to edge closer. He was cornered, and all he could do now was fight. The room blinked from red to black, as the siren continued to pulse.

"No one's going anywhere." Boss retorted, holding his weapon more distinctly this time. They all looked toward their ringleader and laughed. The ringleader laughed also, and started to clap. Boss didn't move but simply stared at their leader. His mood eerily twisted from enjoyment to anger.

"Then you will die!" The scream became an echo, and he ran forward spraying bullets from side to side, which was soon interrupted with a sharp crack of the attacker's arm and a leg sweep, letting his head crash to the ground and pierce the skin releasing a trickle of racing blood. The FOXHOUND operative moved toward the next and pulled his head down into his knee, breaking teeth and cutting his tongue. While holding the head, he pointed his gun toward the rest, and made a head count while restraining his hostage. There were five more. How did they get on the plane?

Using his knife, he pushed it through leather, cotton and flesh until he hit the rib cage, and pushed the hostage toward the others. The knife jerked out of the tissue and was soon returned to the butt of the gun. Three shots soon fired out, catching three in the head. Two remained, not including the already paralysed victim. One fired bullets blindly, and hit his own comrade in the foot, and damaging the oxygen valve on the wall. Steam began to billow out, and choke him. Boss saw his chance and ran toward the injured soldier with the shot foot. A flying kick connected sharply with the hostile, snapping the nose and causing a certain concussion. Blood tangled through the air and sputtered onto the ground. Boss looked to his left, and the choking attacker was slumped against the hatch door, reaching for the release switch. He marched toward him and took him by the throat, lifting and slamming him onto the wall.

"I said no one was going anywhere. Who sent you?" Boss spoke with a pulsing breath, although it was steady, it was battering his throat. The attacker didn't answer, so he pulled the mask off and pressurised his choke on him. Sweat dripped off his face and he squealed nervously.

He was only a kid.

He realised he was Vietnamese so decided to speak in his language. Boss dropped him to the floor and snapped the AK he owned across his leg. Using the nozzle of the weapon he lodged it into the oxygen pipe that had been pierced. The vapour soon cleared and the room became lighter. As he turned, he watched the kid try and press the release button again. However, Boss walked toward him once more and pulled his hand behind his back in a hammerlock position.

"Don't scream, kid. You'll only make it worse." The teenage boy who had been sent nodded and started to steady his breathing.

"I'll ask this only once. Who sent you?"

"His name is…Manco."

"Who the hell is Manco?"

"We never see his face! All I know is that his name is Manco." Boss looked up and took him to the cockpit. Blood dripped off the controls and sparks began to fly, the coffee that formerly sat on the top had been spilled, mixing with blood to create a thick, dark, crimson substance that began to drip to the already bloody floor.

"Why have you come here?" Boss said, throwing him to the floor and pointing the colt toward him.

"We…we were ordered to…"

"Ordered to what? How did you know we were here?"

The teenager began to sob and wiped his face with his sleeve. His tears came rapidly.

"I'm here because they've taken my Brother hostage. He's ten years old. That's why I'm here." Boss looked at the kid and began to sigh. He lowered the weapon and took out some 'Calorie Mate' from his backpack. He threw it to him, and the kid looked confused. He opened the box quite quickly and pulled out the contents.

"What's this?"

"It's a thing we eat in the US. Eat it, you'll feel better."

The kid began to chew at the Calorie Mate, then started to eat it quickly. He was as skinny as hell and he must not had eaten a decent meal in weeks. Boss lit a cigar, dragging at it strongly. Clicking his radio transmitter on his shoulder, he tuned into the frequency of Ocelot, however, Hawk answered the call.

"Boss, are you alright? We thought you were for the can there." His British accent was as strong and relieving as ever.

"Yeah, I was ambushed by some gooks in uniform. I took care of them easily, but one of them was a kid. He's with me right now."

"Let me handle the little toss-pot."

"No, it's fine. He's eating some of my Calorie Mate right now."

"The thieving little bastard! I'll have his arms off…" Boss laughed more distinctly this time and looked at the kid, who seemed to be enjoying himself. "Well, the good thing is you're safe."

"Yeah, but where's Ocelot?" It was quite perplexing that Hawk answered to Ocelot's frequency. The frequencies must have been mixed up.

"We didn't see him land…we thought he was with you." Vixen had tuned in to the frequency and sounded quite calm. It sent a shiver down Boss's spine.

"Well, he can certainly handle himself I imagine. Listen, we've looked around and this ghastly jungle is all the same. We don't know where to meet up."

"Boss, there is a cabin to the North of your current position. Head north and rendezvous with the others there." Surely enough, Lucius had tuned in as well. He knew everything about the surrounding jungle. The operation had been handled quite poorly; they hadn't even been briefed about how the area was set up.

"Hold a second, Paulman. Where is it from where we are?" Hawk exclaimed.

"You are to head west, and do not address me as 'Paulman'. It's Weasel."

"Why did they call you that?" Boss asked, as Lucius was being hit by all angles here.

"Listen, if I call you by your codenames, you will call me by mine. Understood? Weasel out."

There was a small silence thereafter, but it was soon broken when Hawk began to sigh.

"What's wrong with him?"

"No idea. I'll meet you at the cabin, anyway."

"Roger that. Commencing the operation."

Boss got up from his crouching position and sat in the pilot seat, moving the former pilot to one side. Flicking off the 'auto-pilot' switch he began to turn the aircraft around, and then switched it back onto auto-pilot. From his position, he stood and began to make his way back to the rear hatch. He casually flicked his cigar to one side and walked past the teenager.

"If you come with me, I'll help you find your Brother." Boss said, as he re-attached his parachute and backpack. "All I need you to do is give me information on how the base is set up." Boss continued to prepare for his second attempt of making the drop-off, and the Vietnamese adolescent walked beside him, looking quite happy. He nodded and pulled on his parachute. Beside his foot, one of the attackers was still alive, and twitched while blood rubbed off of him onto the floor. His words were muddled and were hard to make out.

"Treacherous…luttle…bustarb…" Boss turned and could see his companion was quite disturbed of the condition of the slumped soldier next to the oxygen valve. As the hatch began to open, Boss moved toward the attacker and looked at him with disgust.

"You'll…never…make it alive…you'll regret…this…"

"Luckily, you won't be around to find out." Boss said, pointing the gun toward the dying man before him.

"You'll never…destroy us…the weapon is ready…you will all die…" And with that, he died as blood poured out through his lips and slimed onto his lap. Boss lowered his gun and stared blankly at the wall, then turned and looked back at the adolescent.

"You've got a lot to tell me, kid."


End file.
